


Comfort and Relief

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: The business of running Winterfell has taken a physical toll on Sansa, but is Jon willing to do the one thing that would bring her comfort?





	1. Part One

The castle was asleep, except for Jon and Sansa. The King in the North and his trusted cousin sat at Jon’s desk, pouring over incomes and inventories. The candles were burning low, as they had been at their tasks for several hours.

“Must the maesters write so small?” Sansa said, tossing down the Hornwood’s tallies of horses and sheep. She rubbed her face in her hands and made small circles at her temples.

“Let’s start again in the morning,” Jon suggested. 

“No,” Sansa sighed. “We really need to finish these,” she said, as she turned her neck left and right until it made a loud popping sound.

“Honestly, Sansa, that’s disgusting,” Jon shivered. Perhaps it reminded him too much of bones breaking, but he hated that sound.

“What, it feels good,” Sansa said, attempting another pop. 

“Here,” Jon said as he stood up. He walked around behind her. He brushed her hair to one side. He began to rub circles on either side of her neck. “Oh, thank the gods,” she muttered.

He pressed the muscles of her shoulders with his thumbs. Sansa leaned into his touch. He was grateful to at least provide some comfort to her. She’d been there for him through one miserable task after the other, never complaining, simply offering her support and advice.

He’d been grateful, but he wasn’t sure he showed it enough. It was true that Jon knew strategy and defense as well as anyone, but the subtler points of politics were lost on him. Luckily, Sansa could handle the most sensitive situations with ease.

So he didn’t flinch when Sansa undid her robe at the belt, barring her arms and the portion of her back that was not covered by her shift. He simply continued kneading her muscles, rolling her soft skin under his fingers. He felt knots of hardened muscle under her shoulder blades, and focused on those.

Sansa began to moan. Jon felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to distract himself from her sweet sighs. “Did you find the Hornwood numbers satisfactory?” he asked.

“Oh shush Jon,” she chided. He promptly shut his mouth and kept rubbing. Perhaps if he stayed on top of her linen shift, he would be alright. Unfortunately, Sansa leaned forward and murmured, “Lower.”

He found two dimples at the base of her back. He urged himself to focus on those, and not the soft curves that formed around them. To get better leverage, he sat down on the bench behind her. He could feel her body heat, smell her rose oil, hear her heavy breathing. His head felt fuzzy, yet her kept stroking her back. He worked on either side of her spine, and then rubbed the muscles of her hips.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.

Sansa reached behind her and grabbed his wrist. He was twice as strong as her, but in this moment, he was powerless. She pushed his hand between her legs and leaned back into him. “Sansa,” he hissed, trying to pull away.

“Please, Jon, I need you to. There’s no one else I can trust,” she whispered. 

His stomach twisted in guilt. He wanted to please her, but he knew this wasn’t right. Yet there was truly no need to feel guilty: Their friends and advisors had long been japing about ‘kissing cousins,’ and sharing glances whenever Jon and Sansa returned from a walk or a meeting. He knew that Sansa was both under a great deal of stress and lonely; perhaps he could bring her a moment of comfort and relief. Was touching her there any different from rubbing her back?

“Alright,” he whispered, pulling her shift up.

As he began to stroke her, he realized far too late, that this was entirely different from rubbing her back. 

She called out in a tortured voice the moment he began to touch her. Her head tilted all the way back, exposing her white neck. Her breasts, which he had never even noticed before, were suddenly rising and falling with her breathing. She leaned back, and grasped his thighs with her hands.

It was nothing in comparison to what his hand found. She was already wet. She immediately began to respond to his strokes. Her breath caught in her throat as he stroked her up and down. He found her nub and began to roll it between his fingers. She gasped. 

Up until now his hand had been working underneath her shift, so he was blind to what he was doing. Using his other hand, he pulled the shift up until the fabric punched at her belly button.

If Sansa felt immodest, she didn’t show it, and in fact thrust back against his hand even harder. Jon could see everything now. Her soft red curls, her light pink lips, his fingers shiny with her fluid. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Guilt seared through his stomach when he realized he wanted to watch. He dropped his head to her shoulder to keep himself from looking at her beautiful body.

He continued to stroke. The poor girl was wound tighter than a bow. He knew that if he pressed on her apex, and rubbed even a little bit harder, this would be over in an instant. He briefly considered bringing a quick end to his shame. That would also bring a quick end to Sansa’s pleasure. He asked himself if Sansa had ever been touched by a man she loved or trusted. He knew the answer was no. He breathed deeply to calm himself, and resolved to make her feel as good as she could feel, for as long as she could feel it.

So instead of concentrating the pressure on the one spot, he spread long, soft strokes on her lips. 

She cried out and twisted against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. He lowered his mouth to her ear.

“Do you like that, sweet girl?” he breathed against her.

“Yes, yes,” she repeated. 

“Good, you deserve to feel good Sansa, you’re such a beautiful girl, you should only feel good things,” he encouraged as he dared to kiss her neck. 

She threw her head back and whimpered, yet turned her mouth away from his. Jon teased and explored: stroking her lips one moment, sliding a finger in the next, and then retreating back to her lips. It was another form of strategy, after all.

Sansa cried out and rubbed her head against his shoulder. “Please, Jon,” she whispered.

Jon began to shorten his strokes and concentrate them. She clutched at his arms. With Sansa’s hands grabbing at his arms, he felt stronger than he ever had in his whole life. It gave him courage. Perhaps too much, as he slid a finger inside of her. He began to use his palm to rub her. If Sansa preferred his fingers or his palm, he could not tell. Her skin was flushed and sweat was beading at her hairline.

She was beginning to struggle against his hand. Her hips twisted and turned, but she could not thrust from her position on the narrow bench.

“You want to thrust, don’t you, my sweet girl?” he whispered again. She could only nod. He nuzzled her neck. “Go be a good girl and lay on your belly on my bed,” he told her.

She did not need to be told twice. She stretched out on top of his furs. Her shift had fallen in the short walk to the bed. He supposed he could finish the task with it down, but he wanted to watch. He pulled the shift up over her full, round ass and was immediately glad for it. He positioned himself next to her and placed his hand under her, between her wetness and the bed. He cupped her, and began to stroke. Her instincts kicked in immediately and she thrust against him. Jon watched her ass rise and fall and nearly cried for how badly he wanted to take it.

This wasn’t about him though. This was about Sansa. He stroked her with steady, sure strokes, and picked up speed when she needed it. She raised her head off the bed and clutched at the furs, gasping. Finally, with the sweetest cry he’d ever heard, she shuddered and collapsed on the bed. He gently withdrew his hand. She lay on the bed, panting.

He laid down next to her and used his clean hand to stroke her sweaty hair away from her face. 

“Thank you,” she whispered lightly.

Jon could only kiss her forehead in response. 

They lay like that for sometime. Jon wondered what he could do next, when thankfully, Sansa rose and pulled on her robe. “I should go clean up. Goodnight, your Grace,” she smiled and turned.

As soon as he heard the door close, he pulled out his cock, and stroked himself, with the hand still wet from Sansa. He came quickly, having used all of his patience on Sansa. Lying back, he contemplated that he was now well and truly fucked.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Sansa seems to enjoy it, Jon has grown tired of their current arrangement.

Jon wasn’t sure how he should act around Sansa the next day. As always, Sansa knew exactly how to handle the delicate situation. She was simply as courteous as ever, and acted as though nothing strange had happened, as though Jon hadn’t had his finger in her cunt just the night before.

In truth Jon found himself disappointed. He was hoping that they might at least discuss it. If he was honest with himself, he was hoping that the arrangement might continue. He was happy to bring her whatever comfort he could. If she was not coming to him for fear that he would expect reciprocity, he wanted to assure her that he expected nothing in return. 

But nothing came of it, except for several frustrated nights that Jon replayed every moment in his head, stroking himself instead of Sansa.

They went about their days as usual: a King and his trusted advisor, preparing Winterfell’s defenses and its people for a long, hard winter.

It was a full turn of the moon when Jon was sleeping soundly in his chambers. He felt the bed and blankets shifting and Sansa was curled up alongside him before he awoke.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asked, practically still asleep.

“No, in fact I had a wonderful dream,” she said, as she took his hand and placed it between her legs. Her wetness had already coated her lips and legs. 

Jon was shocked out of his sleepiness. 

“I was afraid you weren’t going to come back to me,” he whispered, already stroking her.

She was already relaxing under his touch, melting back into the bed. “Oh Jon,” she sighed. “Of course I would.”

It was dark in the room but Jon’s eyes were beginning to adjust. He lay on his side next to Sansa, and propped his head up on his free hand. With the moonlight coming in through the window, he could begin to make out her features. Her eyes were closed, crowned by her dark lashes. Her head would toss and turn with his strokes, soft sighs escaping her parted lips. She would arch back into the bed, exposing her throat to him. He couldn’t help but think of their sigil, that for wolves exposing the throat was a sign of submission.

Jon wanted to take that throat and those lips with his own mouth, and tear at them with his teeth. Yet they were not wolves, and Sansa had never invited him to kiss her. When he thought of the first night, and tonight, Sansa had immediately brought his hand to her cunt, and only her cunt. It seemed as though she had only given him permission to touch one precious place. This was about Sansa’s desires, not his own. So he continued to stroke her lips, finger her cunt, and make her moan, all without pressing his lips to hers. 

He concentrated on his hand, his fingertips making circles around her hardened nub. He couldn’t help but stare at her breasts, peeking out from underneath her shift as she rocked back and forth. Again, touching anything other than her cunt seemed forbidden. A thought occurred to him. Perhaps he felt he could not touch Sansa, but she could touch herself. 

“Does that feel good, sweet girl?” Jon asked softly.

“So good,” she struggled.

“You know what will make it feel better?” he asked, still stroking.

“Mmm….not possible,” she mumbled her feet pushed back against the bed.

“Yes it is, my darling. Show me your breasts, Sansa,” he told her, with a gentle voice. She didn’t hesitate to pull down the straps of her nightgown, exposing her peaks to him. He sighed at the site of her porcelain hills with rose petal tips.

“Your breasts are so beautiful, Sansa. Play with them, my sweet,” he encouraged.

Her hands went to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. Jon’s cock twitched at the sight. He tried to ignore the ache in his cock by focusing even more on her cunt. He furiously stroked her. 

“Your nipples, play with your nipples,” escaped from his ragged breath.

She began to pinch and pull them, rolling the peaks in her fingers. Jon could barely see straight, but he kept stroking her harder and faster. His fingers were slipping over her wet cunt, pushing her forward. He locked three fingers together, hard and straight. He bounced them left and right over her, her clit being pressed with each stroke. That, along with Sansa’s own stimulation of her breasts, brought her closer, and her legs jerked out. She turned, struggling with her pleasure. “That’s it, come for me, you’re so beautiful when you come,” he whispered to her. Her face tightened and heat rolled off her body as she came, and collapsed next to Jon, breathing heavily. Jon’s hand went soft and still, but did not leave her precious body.

They were quiet for some time, each feeling the glow of the fire slowly fading. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“I’ll do anything for you, Sansa,” he promised. 

“I know,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. She began to sit up in bed. He grabbed her arm.

“Stay a while,” he pleaded.

“Alright, Jon,” she said, settling into bed next to him. They curled up next to each other and quickly fell asleep, exhausted from either pleasure or frustration.

The next morning Jon reached across the bed to pull her to him and found it empty, the sheets where her warm body had slept were now cold. He was alone.

 

Jon sat at his desk, staring vacantly into the empty room. He was frustrated. He was a King, yet he was powerless in his own bedroom.

Sansa had come to him several more times. He would wake immediately and pleasure her for as long as she could take it. One night, he pulled on her shift until she was finally naked him front of him. He then positioned her on all fours and refused to stop until she came for a third time. Another night found her straddling him, his hand stroking her as she grinded against his stomach. One delicious afternoon, she bent over his desk while he stroked her under her dress. Yet every time, she would run away in the middle of the night, or turn away from his kiss. 

He felt anger and guilt in equal measure. The guilt came from within, not without. Their Lords and advisors kept hinting at an impending royal wedding. Sansa’s sons by any other man would have a claim to Winterfell. Their marriage could prevent a hundred years of civil war. No one would be disappointed to hear that Jon and Sansa were sharing a bed. So why was his stomach in coils?

He knew that he dishonored her with late night trysts. She was the Lady of Winterfell: she should not be sneaking into his bedroom late at night. At the same time, Sansa gave only a part of herself to Jon. She would stretch naked before him but not kiss him. It was not just politics that compelled him to marry her. He wanted her in his bed every night, not just the nights that suited her. How could he ask for all of her when she only gave him such a small portion? 

He thought about his ancestors on either side, and what they would think of him, sitting at a desk and pouting over a girl. The Starks had held the North for centuries, despite other houses with claims as good as their own. Aegon and his sisters claimed all of Westeros, and he could not take one girl?

He stood. His frustration would end, today.

He left his chamber and tore through the halls. He swore he could smell her, the scent of rose oil and lemoncakes calling to him. He might be half a dragon, but in this moment, he felt a whole wolf.

He heard her. Her soft, beautiful laughter echoing through the halls. He turned a corner and found her. She and Lord Manderly stood by the window, laughing over some jest, while Brienne stood a patient sentinel.

She noticed him and greeted him warmly. “Your Grace, I was just telling Lord—” she began. 

Jon would never find out what she was about to say. He took her by the waist, and kissed her, hard. She was shocked, and nearly lost her balance, but steadied herself by grabbing his chest. He held her to him and kissed her fiercely.

Lord Manderly let out a whoop of laughter and cried, “Finally!” It shocked Jon and Sansa who pulled apart.

Brienne cleared her throat and said “Lord Manderly, perhaps we should give His Grace and the Lady some privacy?” 

“Indeed!” he shouted, and the two started down the hall, Manderly’s shuffling steps trying to keep up with Brienne’s long strides.

“Jon,” Sansa said, stunned.

“Come, my lady, join me in my chamber,” he stated. She stood frozen, so Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall. Once in the room, he closed the door hard behind them, the latch sliding shut.

He pulled her to him again, and kissed, twice as fierce. He held her face, and explored her mouth. She finally responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. He stroked her tongue and pulled at her lips, desperate to make up for all of the kisses he’d missed.

“From now on, I will kiss you when I please,” he said when he released her.

“Will you?” she asked defiantly. “In front of lords and knights? For everyone to see?”

“Yes, because I am going to marry you,” he stated. That seemed to stun Sansa more than the kiss, if it were possible.

“Are you? And do I have any say in the matter?” she demanded.

Jon stopped suddenly. He hadn’t considered that the girl who crept into his bed would object to a marriage. He began to panic. What if she didn’t want to marry him? He could never force her.

“Of course—I meant for us to discuss the matter. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. How would he make his case to Sansa? He couldn’t tell her that he wanted to marry her because he ached for her body with every breath he took. She sat down and gave him an expectant look. He sat across from her and began.

“There cannot be two branches of House Stark. We must join our lines,” he said.

“Ah, I see,” she said sadly. “You mean to wed me to strengthen your hold on the North.”

“What? No!” he blurted. “Damnit, I’m doing an awful job at this, aren’t I?” She merely crossed her arms over her chest. He got up and went to her, kneeling before her. He took her hands in his own.

“Sansa, I never expected any of this. I thought I would live and die and the Wall. Except, I died, and kept living. I never expected to be crowned, or to find out that my father was a Targaryen. I never expected my sweet sister would become my beautiful cousin. And now, I have to lead men against a terrible darkness. I’m not even certain that I can do it, because men greater than me have failed. I only know that I need you. I need your strength, and your wisdom, and your kindness. You’re beautiful, and I know I’m not what you imagined, but I promise I will honor you every day,” he finished, praying he hadn’t ruined everything.

She was quiet for some time. She was looking down at their hands. When she finally looked up, she had tears in her eyes. 

“You are.”

“I am? I am…what?”

“You are what I imagined. Perhaps not who I imagined. But you’re brave, and gentle, and strong. You protect the innocent. You do what’s right, even, perhaps especially, when it puts you in danger. You’re a true knight,” she said.

Jon had no words, so he kissed her, this time as gently as he could.

Leaning against her, he whispered, “So you’ll marry me?”

She laughed sweetly, and answered, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“Are you sure?” he teased, “You’ll have to kiss me in front of everyone. Lords and knights and whatnot.”

“Well, we had better start working on it,” she said, threading her hands into her hair, and kissing him.


End file.
